Rachel And The Teacher
by Semixtina
Summary: Santana Lopez arrives at McKinley not expecting at all what awaits for her there. The biggest surprise, though, turns out to be a cute looking midget called Rachel Berry. Instantly, both girls feel inexplicably attracted to each other. But, considering that Santana is Rachel's teacher, things won't be as easy as any of them would have expected.
1. A confusing meeting

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**Well, I've started writing this just because I love teacher!Santana in a Pezberry story lol. If you're interested in this stuff, I recommend you this fic called "Si tu me dices ven, lo dejo todo". It's a wonderful fic by WriterGleek. The only problem? You have to understand Spanish xD**

* * *

Santana was trembling with anticipation. It was her first day at McKinley High, a little high school from an unknown town called Lima, Ohio.

Well, obviously Lima hadn't been the first option she had solicited at the end of her career, but due to the little teacher per student rate present in that place, she had gladly accepted the four hundred extra dollars that she would be receiving each month. Yeah, definitely Santana Lopez was one lucky bitch.

When she arrived at half past seven a.m., already having prepared and planned her classes, the woman went to talk once again to the school's principal, an awkward Indian looking man called Mr. Figgins.

She hadn't even had enough time to knock thrice on the crystal door when Mr. Figgins had approached the door and opened it with an enthusiastic tug, immediately reaching out with the other hand and shaking Santana's vigorously.

"It's really nice to have you here again, Ms. Lopez" slurred the principal once thy both sat down, smiling goofily at her, intertwining his fingers on his desk, in front of him.

"The whole directive team wishes you a nice scholar year here, at McKinley, and hopes that you don't develop any kind of allergies or nourishing problems due to the poor state of the cafeteria's fridge and the food inside it." Santana tried with all of her might to not let repulsion take over her features, instead just allowing a tight smile and a nod.

"Good. So, as we already have solved the main issue" Santana, who had just gotten on her feet, looked at the floor long enough to roll her eyes without being caught, her show face forming the instant she straightened up once again. "I'm sure that you are wishing to fill your desk with those Hispanic distinctive symbols present in almost every Occidental house nowadays." Sending the short man one last fake smile and nodding once again, the teacher turned around, opening the door and waving one last time to the principal, who responded enthusiastically with his own wave, and closed the crystal door, taking a deep breath and thanking God that the meeting had been much shorter – and awkward, must not forget the awkward part – than she expected. Looking around the hall to remember the way to her office, the tall woman inspected the color and the design of the lockers.

_Mmm, it reminds me of my high school years. Oooh, those were good days._

As the Latina looked to the various posters pinned to the wall talking about different clubs and associations, she wasn't able to see the petite figure who was just heading towards her, her own eyes caught up with some sheet music. Neither of the girls had even seen the other yet, when they ran into each other, making the smaller girl drop the music sheets because of the impact. Looking down immediately, Santana extended her arms as a signal of apology.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. Are you ok?" said the teacher, kneeling by the other girl and helping her regroup her papers. The petite brunette – who couldn't be older than seventeen – lifted her head, biting her lip shyly as she looked up at the woman.

Santana, for her part, had _very literally_ suffered from cerebral death. The moment she saw those big brown eyes, that incredibly cute big Jewish nose, the pronounced cheekbones and that shiny hair, the air had been knocked out from her lungs. Blinking a few times, the Latina's brain finally caught up with the fact that she had been staring. Said girl straightened up, smiling at the few inches she had of height advantage when the other girl straightened up as well, and handed her the small stack of papers she had managed to collect from the floor.

"Here. I'm…I'm sorry about that" spoke up finally the older girl, worrying the back of her neck, smiling when she saw a blush cover the student's cheeks.

"It was nothing. I feel like I was partly to blame too, since I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Santana felt her smile widen at the sound of the girl's soft voice, a childish glint tinting her words.

Nodding her head and putting her sweaty hands in the pockets of her jeans, the Latina girl pulled them out immediately, making the smaller girl smile shyly again. Extending her hand, Santana waited until the smaller girl's made contact with hers to shake it.

"Nice to meet you…"

"Rachel. Rachel Berry. This is my… Junior year at this school" introduced herself the tiny brunette.

"Rachel. Mmm." Repeated the Latina, as if she were testing the way the name came out of her lips. And she liked it.

"I'm Santana Lopez, the new Spanish teacher" said the taller girl, once again pulling her hands into her pockets.

"Oh! I have Spanish classes this year with the new teacher. Who obviously, it's you" laughed a tad nervously the younger girl. "It will be nice having a teacher who actually knows Spanish." Both girls laughed at this.

Sensing that the conversation hadn't much more in it to offer, the teacher let out a puff of hair and looked apologetically at the girl.

"I'm afraid I have to go. Now." Said the Latina, making the girl frown in a way that Santana thought was completely adorable. _Not. Not adorable. At all. God Lopez, center, ok? It's a student! Stop letting your hormones take over and just-_

_"_Uuh?_" _asked the Latina, having caught off guard by a question from the tiny brunette.

"I said" repeated the girl, blushing at the thought of one of her teachers zoning out so obviously on her, "that it's been a pleasure meeting you. I hope we can get along." At the end of her sentence, the girl had turned an intense red color, making Santana chuckle lightly.

"Of course. It's been a pleasure meeting you too" said the woman, smiling at the brunette's shyness.

Finally, the small girl clutched the stack of papers tightly to her chest, nodding her head, and without saying anything, the girl started walking away. When she turned the corner, though, the brunette turned her head to look at the teacher once again, smiling shyly and blushing profusely at having been caught, only to disappear behind the wall a second later.

Santana, as the well rationalized and logical grown up adult that she was, wondered to herself about the breath taking girl.

_What the fuck was that?_

* * *

**Well, sorry about the short chapter, but I'm actually writing this at like midnight, and my parents told me to turn the computer off at 11. So xDD**

**Besides, tomorrow at first hour I have a pretty important paddle match, so if I lose, I'll blame this site for not letting me sleep enough hours \0/**


	2. How Scary Can A Teacher Be?

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.**

**First, sorry if it sucks; I'm not really ****_that _****inspired right now, and today my stomach started hurting like a b**ch. So. I hope this doesn't let you ****_completely_**** down.**

* * *

Santana was having a pretty nice first day at McKinley so far. She had mostly just introduced herself to the students, making them present themselves later.

For the new ones, it was a rather embarrassing action; none of them wanting to bare themselves to the people who would be around them constantly for the whole year, but for the older ones, it was quite fun.

She still had one more class to meet, and suddenly the woman felt the nerves that had faded through her first two classes of the day come again at full force.

There, in the student's list, was the name, clear as day.

_Rachel Barbra Berry._

Rachel was in her last class.

With each passing second, Santana's frown faded a little more, until finally it was replaced by a full on smile when she recalled the way the petite brunette's lips quirked up when she cracked a shy smile.

Before that – surely eventful – class, the raven haired woman had to make a stop at the teacher's lounge, having told Principal Figgins that she would acquaintance herself with every part of the building where she would be working; or in this case, relaxing.

When she arrived there, the only two people present there stopped their conversation almost immediately, taking in the image of the Latina standing in the doorway. The first one to react was an undoubtedly attractive man in his early thirties with extremely greased curly hair. Smiling widely, his eyes roaming quite boldly the entire length of the Latina, the man stood up and approached Santana, extending his hand until Santana shook his hand with her – in comparison – little one.

"So, you must be Santana Lopez, the new Spanish teacher" said the man matter of factly, putting his hands on his hips, the broad smile not leaving his face, making Santana a little uncomfortable. The woman just smiled politely and nodded her head, clasping her hands at her back, looking around the room, waiting for the man to return to his own personal space.

"Oh! How impolite of me to not have introduced myself yet. My name's Will Schuester, I'm the geography teacher."

Biting her tongue to prevent herself from saying something that would definitely cause her more trouble than good, Santana answered with a "Nice to meet you", praying to God to end that awkward encounter that instant. The clearing of a throat made them both turn their heads, the tall girl grateful for the distraction.

It looked like the red haired woman with too big eyes and plastic gloves on her hands glaring at Schuester didn't like being ignored.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot. This is Emma Pillsbury. She's not technically a teacher, but she works here." Emma looked incredibly confronted with the vague introduction given by Schuester, so she carefully removed her gloves, folding them neatly before getting up. Now, Schuester looked nervous.

"I'm William McKinley High School's guidance counselor. I help our students resolve their problems, and I help them get over their puberty insecurities." Santana nodded politely once again and extended her right hand to shake Emma's.

The counselor just looked at the hand, her own jerking lightly at her sides, a nervous smile forming in her lips. Santana tried not to burst into laughter when the red haired woman looked up apologetically at her, and then moved her gaze towards William, asking him for help.

"She suffers from OCD. Sorry." Was his explanation.

"No problem" Was all the Latina could say, her eyes itching with unshed tears as she bit the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from laughing. Hard.

The other woman just continued smiling nervously, her expression not changing even when she hurried towards the table to gather her things and left the room without a word, only a little nasal sound resembling to 'Why'.

At this, Schuester just looked fondly as she left, his eyes softening. Taking advantage of his distraction, the Latina made like she had looked at her watch and morphed her face into an apologetic one. "I should really get going, you know. It has been a pleasure meeting you and…Emma." Said the woman walking backwards; and without giving Schuester time to answer, Santana left the room.

* * *

_This is it. _That was the only thought in Santana's mind when she entered the room in which she'd hold her last class of the day.

As usual, some kids were on their feet, chatting with their friends at another table; others were throwing paper balls at the bin from different distances, and others were writing stupid things on the blackboard. The class was classified as a mildly wild one in the Latina's head. Her eyes skimmed over the sea of students, looking subtly for _her. _And when finally, Santana spotted Rachel, she didn't expect what she saw.

The girl's bangs were wet, covered in a purple sticky looking substance in some parts. Her sweater was stained by the same fluid, making the dark green material look randomly black.

The girl didn't look much better herself. She had her head downcast, obviously shielding herself from the exterior world, her hair hiding her face. She seemed to be inspecting some notebook, her hand playing with the slightly bent corners of the paper. The petite brunette was sitting alone, in the nearest desk to the teacher's.

Finally, the students seemed to have noticed their new hot teacher, because all of them ran to their seats and a scary silence fell over them. All the faces were turned to the teacher - including the only one she cared about - , so Santana smiled widely and roamed her eyes over the students once more, stopping lightly when her gaze caressed Rachel.

"Well guys, my name's Santana Lopez, and obviously I'm your new Spanish teacher." Greeted them the tan woman, clasping her hands in front of her.

"I really hope that we can have a lovely school year. I like having fun in my classes," continued the teacher, looking pointedly at the more troublemaker looking students in the room, "but my hand doesn't tremble when I have to impart punishment." Finished Santana, her cold stare morphing all the smiles into respect filled faces.

"Okay!" exclaimed soundly, clapping her hands once and startling the students at the first row of seats. "Who wants to start introducing themselves?" asked, her eyes looking for any raised hand.

"Okay, okay, not everyone at once, please" teased the woman, raising her arms in mock exasperation.

"I'll start. Hi, my name is Santana Lopez, I'm twenty four years old and I come from Puerto Rico, but I was raised in Boston." At this new bit of information, several students raised their hand, encouraged by the Latina.

The end of the class was nearing, and almost everyone had introduced themselves to the rest of the class. None of them were who the Latina wanted it to be.

"Anyone else?" asked Santana, looking pointedly at Rachel.

The girl tried to use her hair as a shield to prevent eye contact, but Santana wasn't giving up.

"Rachel? I think you're the only one who hasn't introduced yet."

Under the soft gaze of her new teacher, Rachel sighed to herself and got up from her seat, receiving a few murmured insults by the people closer to her.

When she straightened up in front of the blackboard with her red rimmed eyes, her wet bangs and her stained sweater, Santana instantly felt bad for having forced her. That guilt only increased when a paper ball hit her torso, making a little group of jocks laugh and high five each other, one of them murmuring 'ten points!'.

Santana angulated her shoulders and raised her chin, her freezing stare cutting through the students like a sharp gigantic sword. Everyone straightened up on their seats and some of them cleared their throats, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Turning her head to Rachel at an angle in which only the tiny girl could see her face, Santana smiled encouragingly and made a barely noticeable 'go on' motion with her head. Lowering her eyes, her fingers fidgeting madly, Rachel cleared her throat lightly, wetting her lips in a quick motion before lifting her head; a renewed determination marrying her features.

"My name is Rachel Barbra Berry, I'm seventeen years old, and I was born here, in Lima, Ohio." A few of the snickers and chuckles were silenced once more by the Hispanic teacher. Taking a deep breath, Rachel cracked a little smile and tilted her head slightly down, her eyes roaming the classroom walls.

"My biggest dream is being able to participate one day in any Broadway piece-" "Tell us about your parents, freak!" was heard, the anonymous voice echoing through the whole room until, once again, almost every person present started cracking up. This time, the sharp look the teacher sent the students wasn't enough to shut them up, so Santana got up from her position sitting at her desk and uttered a loud 'Silence!', her voice taking a serious edge that the pupils hadn't heard until that moment.

Rachel raised her head once again, her chin jutting slightly. Blinking a few times, the small girl turned her eyes towards Santana, looking intently at her, before turning her gaze back to the rest of the class, her lungs filling with air and expulsing it massively.

"I have two gay dads." The roaring of laughter could be heard two classes down the hall.

Rachel, however, looked unfazed by all the teasing referring to her fathers, to the Latina's shock, who was still catching up with that tiny bit of information. Rachel had two gay dads? Well, that definitely meant that the girl wasn't repulsed by homosexual people.

Slapping herself mentally for such a stupid thought, Santana slammed her hands against the wooden surface of her desk, making the chatter progressively die.

"I think it's enough." Stated the teacher firmly, looking dead serious.

"Yeah, enough dudes in her family, right RuPaul?" teased another student, making Santana's blood boil. When the teacher looked to her left, she saw the petite brunette that had taken over her mind for the last five hours tighten her jaw, her hands closing tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Excuse me a moment. What was your name?" asked Santana, her half closed eyes looking directly at the jock that had made the last comment.

"Tom." Was the cocky answer.

"Right. So, do you have any problems with homosexual people, Thomas?"

"It's Tom" replied the boy, his face turning a light shade of red.

"Right. So, do you, Thomas?" continued Santana, her lips twitching into a little smirk, having emphasized the word 'Thomas'.

Looking affronted, the boy puffed his chest and frowned, moving his head to the side, not daring to look at the teacher in the eye.

"No."

"Are you sure, Thomas?"

"Yes."

"Good." Finished the Latina, her face serious again. Turning her head towards Rachel, the girl almost looking in awe at her, Santana smiled kindly at the student, and moved her head towards her seat.

"Come on, Rachel. Very well done." The brunette walked towards her desk, her head ducked the whole way to avoid the hateful looks she was most certainly getting, until she arrived at her desk and sat down, her back straight as ever.

Forcing herself to pry her eyes off Rachel, Santana turned her back to the class, looking at the old clock hanging behind her desk.

"Okay. This class is over for today. Have a good week. " Dismissed them the woman, just as the bell rang. Sitting down and rearranging the papers – that she hadn't used, _at all _–, the tan girl heard the rustling and chatter leave the room, letting her dive deep in her thoughts.

Rachel was bullied. No, that was clearly obvious. She seemed like the type of girl who would never stand up against other people. And she had met quite a few people like that. The bulling always got worse, and Santana had watched many people hurt silently in her years of High School. Teens could be the worse providers, and certainly were the most sensitive receivers.

Santana had started thinking of ways to act towards students to prevent bulling from happening, when someone cleared their throat in front of her desk. Lifting her head, she was met with none other than Rachel Berry, who was almost smiling down at her.

"Rachel. You startled me." Said the teacher, pressing her hand against her chest and smiling herself. The woman stood up, so that the height advantage was once again of her part.

Suddenly, Rachel's face looked alarmed by the thought of distressing her teacher. "Oh, I'm truly sorry for-" "No no no. None of that. I'm happy that you're here. I just didn't expect it, that's all." At the words, Rachel seemed to blush lightly, but was difficult to tell with her naturally tanned skin.

"So." Santana clapped her hands once in front of her. "What did you want?"

Looking up, the tiny brunette opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out of her mouth. Looking at the blackboard, the girl opened her mouth again. And again, no sound. Smiling, Santana walked around her desk, until she was at arm length from Rachel, and reaching out, the Hispanic woman placed one hand on Rachel's shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. Ducking her head and smiling broadly, her cheekbones raising and jutting _deliciously – God, Santana, stop it –, _the short girl finally spoke.

"I just… My parents…" Taking a deep breath, puffing the air out at the squeeze she received, Rachel tried again.

"I just wanted to know if you… do you feel uncomfortable about my dads?"

_What?_

"What?" asked Santana, alarmed. Because, geeze. She didn't know she had sent those signals. She was a lesbian, for God's sake. What kind of problem could she have with the girl's dads? Oh, of course that Rachel didn't know that.

Before Rachel could speak again, Santana raised her hand in a placating manner, making her close her mouth instantly.

"No! Why would you think such thing?" demanded the Latina, her face showing how surreal just the thought looked to her.

Looking like a deer caught in headlights, Rachel started shaking her head furiously, her wet hair hitting her in the face.

_I'll have to ask her about the stains one of these days._

"Sorry! I didn't want to imply anything! I just… I've had my fair amount of bigoted teachers who didn't stand the idea of two men together in that way, and I just…" the girl trailed off. Santana ducked her head and smiled, encouraging her to finish whatever she had wanted to say.

"You just…"

"I couldn't stand the thought of you being one of them."

Santana's expression was unreadable. The smaller girl, afraid of having scared her new teacher off on her first day, bit her lip nervously, waiting for the lecture for having used such a bold sentence.

Instead, Santana's face slowly came back to its normal state, smiling kindly at Rachel, even though the student could tell that something else was up.

"There's nothing to worry about" assured the woman, her smile showing her flawless teeth.

Nodding her head slowly, Rachel waved lightly her hand, receiving a little wave from Santana, and silently left the room.

Once the door was completely closed, Santana closed her eyes, leaned her body against the edge of the desk, and covered her face with her hands, taking a deep breath.

_This girl's gonna be the death of me._


	3. Discoveries & Substitutions

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.**

**Well, well, well… here it is.**

**I really hope this does not suck as much for you as it did for me. Must be the hormones…or something…**

* * *

Four days had passed since Santana's first day of class, and things couldn't get any worse.

On Tuesday, that psychopath called Sue Sylvester had stormed in one of her Spanish classes in the middle of an explanation, sitting on the chair that Santana had just left to write something on the blackboard. The woman had spent the whole hour staring at her, and Santana, honestly scared, had said nothing.

And, when the bell rang, the woman left the class just like she had arrived.

The next day, that Schuester creep had asked her to go the Lima revival of Rocky Horror, offer that she had declined politely (or as politely as she could while her lesbian hormones just asked her to kick him between the legs).

Mercedes and Kurt had told her that they wouldn't be able to visit her the next weekend due to some professional issues in their company.

And to top it all, Santana had been hit with a disturbing realization. No, scratch that.

A fucking horribly awful realization.

Santana wanted Rachel Berry. Wanted her bad.

And not in the I-want-you-to-be in-all-my-classes-because-you-are-brilliant kind of want. No.

She wanted Rachel in the I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off -and-make-you-scream-until-you-forget-your-own-name way. Which was bad. Very bad, taking in account that Rachel had presumably _just _turned seventeen, and was her fucking student, for God's sake! It was so wrong that she just wanted to sink her fingers into the tiny girl and just breathe her and-

Well, in her head she was not that specific – not _always_, at least -, but that really didn't matter. The feeling was the same, as well as her reaction. Nothing good.

She realized on Tuesday night, when after a long day of correcting awful excuses for Spanish, she had gone to bed. Her mind wandered to places it never had before, including one petite girl's bed. And couch. And desk.

When the Latina woke up, she found her left hand gripping her pillow tightly, her knuckles white; her other hand having made its way under her panties a long while ago.

Remembering her (wet) dream, the teacher hadn't been able to go to sleep again that night. Because, was there anything more wrong than wanting your pupil? Well, not just your pupil. Your seventeen year old cute ass tiny girl slash favorite student. It was so wrong that Santana almost could feel the tears of frustration and fear welling in her eyes.

The brunette looked so delicate and sweet, so _innocent_… _Way _too innocent for the things that had taken place in the Latina's mind that night.

Her tiny being just screamed to be touched and squeezed by Santana. And she didn't think she had the willpower needed to resist it. It was_ scary _and_ wrong; _wrong in so many levels that Santana couldn't even think of one in that very moment_._

Besides, she had only interacted with that girl twice. Twice! And one of that encounters had been in a class full of hormonal slash immature teenagers.

_God_, she thought, _what the fuck is wrong with me? Okay that I haven't get laid in months, but am I really that needy?_

_Well Lopez, it's not like the girl isn't smoking hot or something like that-_

_Shut the fuck up!_

_-or even that she isn't the most gorgeous girl you've ever-_

_I swear that I'm gonna bust your fucking kneecaps!_

_…I think that would hurt us both._

_…yeah._

Shaking her head, Santana groaned when her alarm clock went off at seven. Slamming her hand against the top of the chirping device, Santana threw her arm over her eyes, shielding her from the sun, the exterior world, and reality.

A tiny part of her (the little girl's scared part) really, _really _hoped that this… thing… with Rachel was just physical.

But the other part, the bigger, more mature side of her brain just wanted to get closer to the girl. Wanted to be her main support, her main help, her main _everything. _And that didn't sit well with the Hispanic girl. Not at all. But was it too much to ask for a more plausible desire? like, for example, _bacon._

And, besides, what kind of person would it make her if she just wanted to _fuck_ her student?

* * *

The day had passed fairly quickly for Santana, the prospect of having to face Rachel after the _events_ of last night making her volatile and absent minded her three first classes.

She didn't even have enough willpower to let Schuester down once again at lunch period. She just sat there; not even pretending to listen to what butt-chin greased-hair was going on about (the man looked distressed over something Santana just didn't care enough to worry about), just munching obliviously her cheese sandwich.

After lunch, the woman had got up and left the teacher's lounge, heading to her office to just rest her head off a bit since there was still another hour until her next class, when a choked sound caught her ear.

Stopping right in front of the first floor's girl's bathroom, Santana almost stopped breathing, trying to hear and identify the provenance of the noise. Then, she heard it again. Sobbing. Yeah, it definitely came from the bathroom. Her brow furrowing, the teacher turned her whole body so that it was facing the big metallic door. Tilting her head to the right, the Latina gave two long strides, reaching the door immediately. Pressing her right ear against the door, the sound was much clearer now, almost as if the sobbing girl were pressed against the door. Deciding that she would be a shit ass teacher and a worse person if she didn't at least worry a little bit, Santana knocked lightly on the door.

The sobbing stopped immediately; only rustling was heard at the other side of the door. Taking that as an invitation, Santana cracked open the door, only allowing the tiniest peek inside the bathroom.

"Oh…" was the only thing that came to her lips once she saw who was occupying the bathroom. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Rachel was facing the sinks, cleaning up the eye liner and mask that had been running down her cheeks mere seconds ago; her eyes were red rimmed and her nose puffy. To Santana, it was almost an endearing sight.

Smiling weakly at the teacher as she moved her gaze from her own reflection to look up at the concerned looking woman, Rachel sniffled cutely-_ not. Not cutely. Not at all._

"Hi" murmured shyly the small girl, he smile fading from her face just as fast as it had appeared.

"Hi" answered Santana, her concern growing deeper with each second that passed. Standing where she was, afraid of what her subconscious would make her do if she got any closer to Rachel, Santana cleared her throat.

"What happened?" asked the Hispanic woman, eyeing carefully the – once again – wet bangs the girl was sporting, as well as her stained clear blue sweater.

"Uh, nothing" said the girl while she took a bunch of paper towels and wetted them under the faucet, so that she could rub them against her dirty sweater. "I just forgot to pack another set of clothes on my slushy kit this morning, so now I'll be forced to wear my stained garments."

Santana's face of confusion was easily recognized by Rachel, who, in exchange, tilted her head to the teacher, cracking a little smile while sniffling lightly.

"The popular kids, like that Cheerio – Quinn Fabray, I think it is - throw slushies at the less blessed in the social hierarchy, like me" explained the girl, too occupied dabbing at her stained sweater with a wet paper to notice the way the teacher's eyes were starting to darken dangerously, or when her hands had formed two tightly closed fists.

"That was why you were stained on Monday, and on Tuesday…and on Wednesday…" trailed off the teacher with a barely strained ting in her voice, as if she were thinking aloud; her eyes unfocused.

Smiling sadly, Rachel nodded her head slowly, her head cast towards the sinks; a thoughtful expression marring her features.

Lifting her head, Santana's frown deepened, her hands aching to touch Rachel, to comfort her. The smaller girl noticed the way that Santana was looking at her intently, and turned her head to face the Latina's, the corners of her mouth curling up once again, an almost amused look in her eyes. A startling contrast to the sobbing mess that she had been just a few minutes ago.

"So, has this happened before? Other than this year, I mean." Laughter bubbled up inside Rachel's chest at the teacher's question, but being the polite girl she was, managed to just widen her smile, just for the Latina to know that the question had been amusing in the least but that she didn't like the answer nonetheless.

"It has happened since my first day freshman year" answered the teenager, her eyes locking with Santana's, looking for any trace of disinterest or boredom. She found none. Instead, an almost uncovered glint of rage could be seen a mile away.

At the new bit of information, Santana became even more confused._ If this happens every day, why was she so upset before?_

"Then…why were you so upset before?" questioned the Hispanic woman pointing towards the door of the bathroom, against which she had been sobbing.

Realization washed over the brunette's features, the amused glint in her eyes disappearing completely. Sighing, Rachel lifted her head once again, looking at her reflection.

"This morning, Mr. Schuester told us that he wouldn't be able to keep directing the glee club any longer. Her wife is expecting a baby and wants to spend as much time with him as possible." _Mmm, so that's what that moron had been talking about at lunch. _Smirking to herself, Santana's eyes widened a little when the information drowned on her. So, Rachel was in glee club?

"You sing?" asked Santana, honestly interested by that little fact.

Blushing, Rachel nodded as she bit her lower lip. After a few seconds of tense silence, the shorter girl sighed and rolled her eyes slightly, as if admitting something to herself.

"Glee club is… I don't know. Singing is the only thing which I excel at." Confessed the tiny brunette. Santana was going to interrupt her, tell her that she was her best student by far, but Rachel had already started talking again.

"I've been attending vocal and dance lessons since I was three years old. It feels good, you know. Being able to do something in which you're truly involved, which you know you're good at and you like doing. I guess…glee is like a family, even though most of my teammates just tolerate me for my talent. But it is my special place, my place to shine; away from those Neanderthals that fill the hallways. And I guess…being part of something special makes you special. But now I won't have that anymore."

Santana could only stare at Rachel. The passion she had poured into her speech made her throat close uncomfortably, realization slapping her in the face.

Glee club would be cancelled.

Rachel wouldn't have glee club.

_Rachel wouldn't have glee club._

_Rachel wouldn't have-_

"I could substitute Mr. Schuester." Suddenly spoke up Santana, making the petite brunette's head snap towards her, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes comically wide.

Nodding as if she hadn't been the one who had proposed the idea, Santana moved her fist up and down, obviously proud of her suggestion.

"I have experience… I mean, when I was in high school I was in glee club." Rachel's shocked face morphed into a smiling one at this. "It certainly was the best part of my day." Looking pointedly at Rachel, Santana approached her until they were at arm distance.

"And it seems like it's yours, too."

Their eyes had locked, each one of them looking intently into each other's, searching for any trace of discomfort or awkwardness because of their new _label, _whatever that meant_. _They found none.

Santana could feel herself getting lost into the two swirling pools of chocolate. Her head was clouding over, removing any other thought that wasn't _Rachel_ and _her_ in _that_ moment.

There had been a point in which she had had to physically hold her right hand to prevent it from reaching out and trace the perfect line of the brunette's right cheekbone, covering it up by crossing her arms and clearing her throat; breaking the spell.

Rachel blinked a few times, obviously startled, and Santana chuckled lightly at the sight. Looking up, Rachel blushed and bit her lip timidly; her stained sweater long ago forgotten.

Looking at her wrist clock, Santana's eyes widened for a second, before looking back at Rachel, an almost apologetic expression etched in her face.

"Mmm…esto…You've missed the first quarter of your class." Expecting an overboard reaction, Santana was shocked when Rachel brushed it off, turning to the sinks to rearrange her slushy kit.

"Teachers are used to this kind of tardiness. Especially coming from me." Santana felt her heart squeeze painfully at the resignation and sadness present in the little girl's voice. Once she had finally packed everything correctly, Rachel took the kit and turned to Santana once again.

"Miss Lopez, I-"

"Santana. Call me Santana. We're not in class or anything, are we?" Said the Latina, stretching the smile in Rachel's face to an almost painful looking level.

"Santana" emphasized the girl, trying the new and exotic name, "I'm really grateful for your effort. You've definitely cheered me up; I truly needed it. And thanks for the glee club thing." Said a bashful looking brunette. "That meant a lot to me, seriously."

Beaming at the student, Santana could feel the heat flooding her cheeks; thankfully her skin color would cover most of it up, anyway.

"The pleasure it's been all mine, Miss Berry."

"Rachel" corrected the tiny brunette, repeating Santana's earlier words.

"Rachel" repeated the tall woman, loving how easily the name flowed from her mouth, even though she had already said it more times than she was going to admit.

Pointing nervously to the door, Rachel moved her eyes anxiously from one side to the other.

"I should…"

"Oh yeah! Of course, I'm sorry" answered the teacher when she finally caught the girl's intentions. Smiling shyly, Rachel ducked her head when she passed by Santana's side, the woman following her with her eyes the entire time.

Once she reached the door, Rachel took the doorknob and twisted it without actually opening the door. Santana just eyed her curiously from behind, looking the rise and fall of the student's shoulders with every deep breath she took. Finally, after a few moments of _nothing, _Rachel turned around, facing her teacher with the same air of determination she had seen her use the first day of class just before talking about her dads.

Taking four long strides, the tiny girl reached the woman, and quickly, got on her tip toes and pressed a light kiss to Santana's right cheek, helping herself by positioning one hand on her teacher's shoulder. Stepping back, her fingers fidgeting madly, Rachel sent Santana one last shy look before running out of the bathroom, leaving a petrified Latina behind.

Because, _technically_, Rachel Berry had _kissed_ her.

And one part of her (the big, important part) felt like crying, sobbing really, because she would never get to experience anything more with the tiny brunette.


	4. Anything and Everything

** DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.**

**Sorry for any mistakes or mispellings. It's three a.m. I just wanted to put this up for you :)**

**Please, review. It would make me feel like a kid in Christmas night ^^. Lol.**

* * *

She had kissed Ms Lopez. Her teacher. On the cheek.

Well, obviously, it hadn't been that relevant, but for the tiny girl it had felt almost how she thought her debut on Broadway would feel. Mind blowing. Wonderful. Amazing. Breathtaking.

Oh, she couldn't wait to write that piece of gold into her diary.

Her heart was beating madly by the time she arrived to her class, her flushed cheeks having been mistaken for embarrassment due to her more than justified tardiness. Excusing herself, the petite brunette received a sympathetic look from her teacher and went to sit at her usual desk in the front row.

The girl was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the foot that had shot out of its bindings to intercept hers until it was too late, and she saw herself falling forward. Her books flying out of her hold, Rachel extended her arms in front of her just in time to stop herself from falling face first. Wincing when her knees and palms connected harshly against the linoleum floor, Rachel didn't even need to look up to know that every single student present in that class had joined the laughter fest. She could hear the voice of her teacher going on about the Second World War.

In spite of the sharp pain she felt stabbing her left knee when she moved forward to grab her books, the Jewish girl raised her head at the same time she lifted herself from the floor; and as the enviable actress she knew herself to be, she covered the slight limp she was sure she was sporting and continued walking towards her usual spot, ignoring the pointed fingers and mocking words designed to bring her down; a fake smile on her face.

Once she was seated, Rachel let her mind wander to the woman she had just had a 'meeting' with. She was really nice. Sure, she had obviously noticed when four days ago she had met her for the first time, her presence and kindness digging an instant hole in the tiny brunette's heart.

And her out of place fondness for her teacher had only grown when she realized that she was the only person – apart from her parents and, rarely, Mr. Schuester – that had shown any kind of real concern for her in a long, long time. That thought should have made her feel nauseous, but it made the flying insects in her stomach – popularly known as butterflies – flutter madly. It was a new and definitely _welcome _sensation.

The tiny girl was starting to feel her plastic smile turning into a tiny, real one, when an extremely wrinkled ball of paper hit her cheek, making her frown instantly at the feeling. She saw the ball land on her desk just in front of her, and hiding the shaking of her left hand, she took the ball.

Rachel knew better than that, she really did, but it was too late; she had already opened the tiny ball. Her eyes wetted dramatically as the words '_my dog's looking for a fuck buddy, you and your daddies can visit him whenever you want_' stood mockingly against the paper. It was ridiculous and childish; the kind of things that adults would lightly scold and pay no attention to. But when Rachel felt a warm breath near her ear murmuring "_I bet you'll like him. He has a dick_", she felt her resolve shatter as she tilted her heads downwards, her tiny fist closing tightly around the paper.

Sighing deeply, the brunette released the ball slowly, and raising her head, she introduced the wrinkled mass of paper into her case. Straightening up, the tiny student flipped her hair over her shoulder and puffed her chest.

Her fake smile didn't waver in the thirty minutes she had left of the class.

* * *

Rachel could feel her lips stretching in a sincere gesture of happiness when the bell signaled the end of her last class. Her last class before Spanish. There was a difference. She didn't consider Spanish as one more class. It was the only place – besides glee and her home – where she knew that someone was there for her. Not literally, but she really liked to think of her teacher as a kind, supportive person. She liked to think that Ms. Lopez would support her if things got bad. Or simply worse. She looked like that kind of person.

Opening her little songbook, Rachel stared at the last words she had written down, reality sinking in once she assimilated the words. She stood like that, her eyes sliding over the carefully written passion-filled words over and over again; as if it were the only thing that kept her away from the disgusting and cruel world where she lived in. And it probably was.

She kept her eyes trained on the paper until she heard the now almost familiar clicking of heels, and her head lifted automatically to watch as the lithe body of her Spanish teacher made its way into the classroom, silencing every sound that was not one of pure _respect. _

Her presence seemed to have hardened since she last saw her at the bathroom, giving her a strict and ruthless edge that she didn't possess before.

"Buenos días clase" said the teacher as she left the stack of papers to rest on her desk and turned her back to the students, taking a piece of chalk in her hand and starting to write some Spanish basics on the blackboard without a word.

Rachel tried not to let the disappointment cloud her mind when the teacher hadn't even looked at her since she entered the class. She was giving her space; space to act normal without the pressure of having to interact with Rachel properly after their little encounter; even when in her mind the encounter was much more than what it really had been.

Turning to the students, Santana finally allowed her gaze to travel over the sea of students, stopping lightly on a jock that looked ready to throw a paper ball. She stopped herself from concentrating on the petite brunette's seemingly distressed face, deciding that her curiosity wasn't going to win over this time. Finally clapping her hands once in front of her, the woman smiled.

"Hoy vamos a aprender la diferencia entre 'haber' y 'tener'."

Rolling her eyes mentally at the look of confusion present on some students' faces, the Latina pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, signaling at the blackboard.

"¿Empezamos?"

* * *

Twenty five minutes had gone by, and Rachel's frown and down casted eyes had started being blatantly obvious. She didn't raise her hand, she didn't participate, she didn't even acknowledge the group questions Ms. Lopez made.

The complicity they had shared in class for the last week had faded away.

She had kissed her cheek, and she had felt _alive_. Sure, at the moment she thought that it had been the adrenaline of being so close to a teacher. But then she remembered the numerous times in which she had been in contact with Mr. Schuester. And something clicked in her head.

It had been an awful reality check for her. It was her teacher she was thinking about, not some high school boy. She couldn't expect her to act differently towards her than she did with the rest of students. It didn't make sense even in her head. Why did she always have to look so much into things?

The bathroom encounter had been a professional, teacher-student action. Nothing more. And she hated that for her it had meant so much more. That for a moment she had thought that, maybe, she and her teacher had_ bonded. _It was only now, in the loneliness of her Spanish class, the class she had been waiting for _all_ day, that she realized how wrong her assumptions were.

She could already feel the sting of tears behind her eyes, so she breathed deeply and clasped her hands under the desk.

The only thing she could hear in that moment was the rushing of blood in her ears. It took her a few seconds to realize that Ms. Lopez had asked her a question.

* * *

Santana frowned lightly. In her first week at McKinley, she had realized that Rachel Berry was a participative person. She was her best student by far, the only one who got an A+ on her first assignment. So it surprised her the way her shoulders were slumped and her gaze was trained on the old desk in front of her.

She couldn't help but think that the frown she was sporting was more because of the obvious indifference the younger girl showed after their bathroom talk than the fact that she wasn't paying attention in her class.

Maybe they were both linked.

Finally, the petite girl lifted her head, and the Latina almost let a sigh of relief escape her lips.

"¿Puedes responder, Rachel?" inquired the teacher, nodding towards the blackboard with a barely covered hopeful smile.

Rachel's eyes travelled smoothly over the surface of the blackboard, and moving them to connect with her teacher's, the brunette nodded.

"La respuesta es 'Había un gato en mi sofá', Srta. Lopez." Answered the student coldly. A little flabbergasted by her student's obvious knowledge of the subject, Santana blinked a few times and widened her smile.

"That's…correcto, Srta. Berry." Nodding her head dutifully, the small girl moved her dark gaze to Santana's for only a second, but it was enough for Santana to recognize the hurt.

Shaking her head, the Hispanic woman turned her head to the rest of students, who were for the most part chatting among each other.

Sighing, she looked at the petite girl once again for just a second before continuing her class.

* * *

"Cedes, I have a problem." Spoke up the Latina, holding her cell phone to her left ear.

"_Hello to you too, hottie_" came the sarcastic answer through the phone, making Santana roll her eyes.

"Hello Mercedes. Can I get to the fucking problem now?" asked quite impatiently the Latina.

"_Whoa, careful there, tiger. I thought you were a teacher_."

"Cedes!"

"_Okay! Okay, go on. Spit it out_."

Breathing deeply, the Latina moved to sit on one of the kitchen barstools of her rental apartment, putting her elbow on the counter and supporting her head with her hand.

"I…I have a problem." A mix of a chuckle and a huff was heard through the line, making Santana close her eyes and scrunch her nose lightly. Seriously, her best friend knew how to get on her nerves.

"_Are you being serious_-?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just…it's big, y'know?" Finally sighed the woman.

"_Well, I had that figured out, sweetie_." Mercedes' voice had softened considerably, indicating that the healthy teasing was over. A few seconds passed, and when none of them spoke, a rush of ideas came crashing into the black woman.

"_You're not pregnant, are you?"_ Shouted in panic Mercedes, making Santana jump lightly on her chair and clench her fist in frustration.

"I'm a fucking lesbian, Jones." Came the angry remark. It was clear to Mercedes now that Santana wasn't playing around.

"_That would have made it all that more wrong. I'm sorry. But are you going to tell me or what?"_

"It's about…it's a relationship problem. Or better, a non-relationship problem." That was it. A sentence ambiguous enough to confuse the girl but guide her at the same time. She could almost hear the wheels and gears turning in her friend's head through the phone.

"_Unrequited love_?" Was the answer.

"Yes…no. No. It's not love. It's not that." Rushed to explain the Hispanic woman, panicking at her friend's assumption.

"_Then_?"

"It's just _attraction_, Cedes. Like…physical attraction. And maybe psychological too." The raven haired girl murmured the last part. She wasn't even sure herself.

"The thing _is_" continued Santana, " that it can't happen. It can't. She doesn't want me back." Finally confessed the distressed young woman.

There was a long silence, both girls trying to figure out what was exactly hidden behind those words.

"_How do you know that?"_ Finally spoke Mercedes softly into the phone.

She _didn't. _But it didn't mean she shouldn't. It wasn't fair. She felt attracted to Rachel, and Rachel hadn't sent any signals that implied that she felt that way. But she hadn't sent signals that showed the opposite thing, either. But, again, why would she?

She was probably the most deviant person in the whole state of Ohio. Needing signals to prove to herself that what she was feeling wasn't all that wrong; that there was someone who felt and thought in the same way she did. Maybe, if she found that person, that _thing _wouldn't be so detestable, so _sick._

But she had already found the person that she wanted to feel that way, and it wasn't possible. The only thought sent tears spiraling straight to the back of her eyes, begging to be released.

Well, that, and the realization that she felt attracted to Rachel emotionally, too.

"I don't." Her voice was strained, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop a dry sob from escaping her lips.

"_Then_-"

"Then." Interrupted Santana. She couldn't bear to hear it. It would be too much for her to stand without breaking. Tilting her head up, looking to the white ceiling, the woman let the tears flood her eyes. She scrunched up her nose and sniffled loudly, her lips turning down by its corners.

"Even if she felt that way, it would mean nothing." Letting her words down on her friend, Santana pressed her elbow to the counter once more, and with that hand pinched the bridge of her slim nose, her pain and conflicted emotions shinning under the tears that were running down her face.

"It would change nothing, Cedes." Whispered the woman, not being able to control the straining and thickening of her voice anymore.

"Sometimes life is as fucked up as that."


	5. Reality

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**Hi! Now, I know ****_this_**** is not probably what you expected, but I just wanted to situate the characters before the two main events: Spanish and Glee ;)**

**Oh, another thing, should I post the translations of any sentences I write in Spanish? I'm sorry, I just tend to forget, but if you want, I'll write 'em down for ya ;)**

**Enjoy and review!^^**

* * *

_Rachel was in the auditorium, safe on the middle of the stage, the rows and rows of seats filled with people facing her back. The girl stretched her arms to the sides and bowed her head. She had always strived for dramatic perfection._

_The stares travelled through her like a river, igniting every nerve of her body on fire and making her blank expression turn into a little pleased smirk for just a second. _

_The light was dimmed, just enough for the audience to distinguish her petite figure standing out in the dark with her form fitting red dress. A deep, resonating sound was heard, and Rachel lifted her head slowly, her face set in the most determined expression. Squaring her shoulders, the girl turned her body to the public; just at the same time the light submerging her increased and encircled her whole being. Moving her eyes over the first row of seats – the only one she was capable of distinguish over the searing spotlight – Rachel let her gaze stop in one specific person. She knew who it was, even though she wasn't able to see their face._

_Letting her gaze rest one more second on the majestic figure, Rachel moved her eyes to the back of the auditorium and waited until the first sounds of a piano being played reached her ears._

_And then Rachel opened her mouth._

_And her mouth opened every heart present in the room._

* * *

_The roaring of the multitude standing in front of her was only drowned by the sound of her own blood pulsing in her ears. She bowed one, two, three times until she finally allowed herself to leave the stage with a childish grin etched upon her round features._

_She felt her feet move in autopilot. Her fathers ran towards her, hugging her with tears streaming down both of their faces and the proudest looks she had ever seen on their eyes. Next was Mr. Schuester, of course, because she wouldn't have gotten the main role in advance had not been because of his generous hand – and the fact that Marley, the gorgeous girl with the wonderful voice had fallen sick four days before the representation was due to premiere._

_A few pats in the back later, Rachel was allowed back into the makeshift dressing room that had been created in the girl's bathroom in order to allow the female components of the play a realistic representation._

_And she was the only one in the bathroom. She started removing the stage make up off her face, and after a moment, turned her body towards her bag, against the wall._

_While she bent down to gather the necessary supplies for a correct make up removal, the petite girl heard the door clicking open; closed a second later. The sound of heels approaching made her stop her task, already knowing perfectly who on earth had stopped just behind her. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Rachel straightened up, relishing on the feeling of a couple of soft hands tracing the outside line of her dress' waist._

_Closing her eyes, Rachel tilted her head back, hitting the superior part of a collarbone with the back of her head, even though she was wearing heels._

_The hands had become bolder, as they continued forward, splaying against Rachel's stomach and applying the tiniest bit of pressure. A soft hum crossed the back of her throat, spurring the hands even more._

_The body behind her shifted, pressing it more fully against her own. She could feel a pair of supple breasts squished between her collarbones and the other person's torso, and the sharp cut of hips pushing lightly against her own, the hands starting to massage the upper part of her stomach and ribs._

_The _woman _bowed her head, until her hot breath was hitting directly the brunette's ear, the sound and the feeling making her more nervous than when she had been standing on the stage._

Finally, _thought the petite singer, when the hot lips that had been by her ear mere seconds ago started tracing the column of Rachel's throat, softly, without any rush and barely there contact, just acquainting with her neck. _

_The smaller girl lifted one hand in the air and took a hold of soft, ravenous locks, while the other one pressed against one of the hands massaging her abdomen. Her mouth opened to let out a sinfully good whimper of desire and arousal, proving itself to be too much for her lover, as she felt herself being turned around by her shoulders and pressed against the wall, the face of the other woman already hidden in her neck; sucking, kissing, licking and eliciting sensations that the petite brunette had never even had a hint of._

_"Santana" murmured in pleasure the small girl, as she clutched the hair in her hands tighter. But a frown etched itself immediately across her face when the movement stopped and the marvelous tongue disappeared._

_Everything turned black again, and as she felt – or at least, she _thought_ she did feel - a sharp bite being delivered to the right part of her neck, Rachel woke up with a startled sound dying in the back of her throat, her skin covered in sweat; an uncomfortable kind of heat radiating through her underwear._

* * *

It was Monday, and Santana seemed to have come back to her senses. It had been so stupid of her to accept that Glee coach position. She had been in Glee club when she was a teenager, and she knew she had a freaking killer voice. But, what had been running through her head in that moment to accept a job for which she was so unprepared for? Oh that's right.

Rachel.

It seemed like every coherent line of thought left the Latina whenever she was near that tiny being. It was incredibly frustrating and heartbreaking at the same time.

She wanted to get rid of the images that constantly assaulted her mind; of Rachel slowly lifting her arms so that Santana could take off her sweater; Rachel sitting in a suggestive position on Santana's desk inside an empty classroom; of Rachel spreading her legs and-

_Stop. Stop right there, you fucking enferma mental._

The Hispanic woman pinched the bridge of her nose taking advantage of the red light she was currently stopped at. She felt like she could slam he head against the steering wheel, and things wouldn't get worse.

Really, her conversation – more like a monologue – with Mercedes had helped her clean up her mind a little.

_Yay, it's green now. Sarcasm, you idiot._

It wasn't her fault that she was attracted to Rachel. It really wasn't. And she knew that it wasn't just because of the brunette's beauty, that was clear. Not that Rachel wasn't absolutely, _breathtakingly_ beautiful to the Spanish teacher, but she just _knew _ that that wasn't the reason of her infatuation. If that had been the case, she would have been crushing on that Fabray girl with perfect nose and gorgeous eyes.

But no. And she didn't know if she should feel relieved that she just didn't want to have sex with Rachel, but _be _with Rachel.

_Oh, please, just shut up._

She could get kicked out of the school, could have her title suspended, could be banned from every school in the US. Okay, maybe she was exaggerating a bit, and maybe she wasn't, but all the facts led to the same conclusion.

That crush was bad as fuck.

And, even though she knew that; even when she _felt_ it every time she woke up in the middle of the night with a tightness in her stomach that definitely hadn't been there when she fell asleep, she wasn't able to stop.

There was something in Rachel. Something special. She had sensed it, had seen it in her eyes. She almost could visualize it every time she closed her eyes for the briefest of periods.

_'And I guess…being part of something special makes you special'_

She remembered perfectly the conversation held secretly between the four walls of the McKinley High's girl's bathroom. Between her and student.

Between Santana and Rachel.

Because, for that brief moment in which Rachel had opened up to Santana, in which she had _trusted _her – oh dear angels, it felt so sinfully good to think about it –, they hadn't been a teacher and a student anymore. They had been two people, _just two people_. Two young girls with more problems than they would ever share; than they would ever let anyone _glimpse. _

It truly broke the Hispanic girl's heart to think about how right she was able to see things when she didn't _see _them, but _through _them, and how often she was not allowed to do just the last thing.

_Maybe, being part of something special makes you special. Maybe, it doesn't change you at all. But, sometimes, it's just the _other_ way around._

The Latina was so submerged in her thoughts that she didn't fully realize she had arrived until her hand automatically turned the engine off. Sighing and closing her eyes, her head downcast, Santana opened the door.

Her messenger bag hung limply from her shoulder, her left arm pressing _Cien Años De Soledad_ tightly to her chest, the worn cover and yellowish pages making the Latina very protective of that personal treasure.

Pushing the main door open with her shoulder, the woman was partially surprised when she saw a few students already inspecting their lockers, or simply chatting among each others. It wasn't usual, she had learnt in the week she had already spent there.

She definitely liked the life and animation a few teenagers could create with just _being. _It made her feel like she belonged, like those balls of energy and motivation – some balls were of_ problems_, too – were there to learn from her, to listen to what she had to say because that was something in which she excelled at, something she liked, and they trusted _her_ to be able to accomplish what they weren't sure they wanted, but were aware they would need someday. And that feeling of accomplishment was bigger than anything.

Smiling at a little group of freshmen who waved bashfully in return, Santana lifted her head and let her Rachel centered thoughts slip away for almost the first time in a week.

* * *

It was lunchtime, and to her utter surprise, Rachel hadn't been slushied. _Yet, _her mind added unconsciously while she stacked her books quickly inside her locker and grabbed the apple and little Tupper of salad her daddy had set for her earlier that morning.

Looking around the hallway, the girl murmured a '_shoot_' when she saw Azimio walking distractedly down the giant corridor with a middle sized slushy in hand. Closing her locker quickly, the girl casted one last glance to the burly boy, closing her eyes in quick thanks when it was clear that he hadn't seen her yet, and took off towards the school's choir room.

She wanted to eat peacefully for once. And she really needed to make some serious thinking involving one slim Latina.

She turned the corner of the corridor which led to the music room, and allowed herself to walk calmly again. No one usually occupied that part of the school at that time of the day, so she was mainly safe from frozen drinks being thrown at her face.

The petite girl started softly humming under her breath, distractedly approaching the choir room while she thumbed the tail of the apple lightly. Once she arrived at the door, the brunette squished the apple between her upper arm and her torso, holding the Tupper with a hand so that she could use the other one to turn the doorknob.

Smiling at the familiarity and security that place proportioned her, the girl carefully closed the door behind her. Rachel eyed the carefully positioned chairs divided in three rows, but instead of heading there, the girl wandered to the piano, settling her lunch on the cover of the keys before she accommodated herself on the stool in front of the black instrument.

Carefully opening the salad container, the girl took the little plastic fork attached to it and started to gingerly introduce little bits of the food into her mouth.

That night, she had dreamed of someone. Their face did not appear in the dream, but she _knew _who it was. After all, she had been thinking constantly about that same person.

Santana.

She had felt her, she had smelled her, she had _enjoyed_ her, but in some way, that dream seemed to have casted an even more enigmatic shadow over her teacher.

She was perfectly aware of the consequences of her thoughts and desires; the wrongness of her craving. And that craving had now been extended to something more than the thought of her teacher, the intangible image of maturity and confidence the woman possessed. It had turned into something physical, almost _primal _judging by her - she couldn't even think about it without a heavy blush covering her cheeks – quite…_wild _dream.

Blowing a puff of air upwards that managed to move her bangs, Rachel writhed uncomfortably on the polished piano stool, its surface having been accommodated to a much more generous backside as the years had passed.

The choir room suddenly seemed too cool for her mildly warm clothes, her hands craving to start rubbing up and down the whole longitude of her upper arms. It didn't seem like a good place to think, anymore. The _why_, she didn't know, but she could definitely feel the presence of and obstruction, a stop signal to her rushed thoughts and careful conclusions.

She thought it was due to the closeness between her surroundings and the recipient of her thoughts, and dreams, and _hopes. _After all, she would be there in just a few hours, teaching the losers of McKinley the difference between a note and a sound, between rhythm and beat, between-

_Oh_, who was she _fooling_. She felt the coldness of the rejection she was surely going to be faced with for her teacher's part. She could still feel the sting of her last class with Santana – Ms. Lopez. She wasn't sure she would be able to pronounce such a personal and intimate term of acknowledgement without her face crumpling and her hands lightly shaking.

The feeling had been unbearable last class, and Santana hadn't even done anything. Well, that seemed to be the problem.

She hadn't done anything wrong; anything she, as a teacher, wasn't supposed to do.

And maybe, the knowledge of that little bit of information – that she hadn't gone out of her way to please Rachel, to hint her _something_, anything really – was what made her eyes close in sorrow, her own hands turning into tightly clenched fists pushing against the tender skin of her stomach as salty tears created new paths and tracks down chiseled cheeks.


	6. This is heaven

** DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**First of all, thank you for the reviews^^**

**Anon, thank you for actually writing a critical review, I appreciate it, truly. I'm sorry you didn't like last chapter (because of its lack of action), but I can asure you that that was completely unintended. I was going to add the Spansh class, but due to technical problems (namely: my mom), I saw myself forced to leave it there, and I just wanted to give you guys a little sneak peek of Rachel's and Santana's minds. This won't happen again, I promise! :D**

**Okay, and now...it's reading time! Next will be Glee Club! **

**Please, enjoy and review! The more reviews, the faster I'll update...jejeje...**

* * *

Rachel was sitting alone on her desk at the front when the bell indicating last period rang. Her head snapped up, a big grin lighting up her face on instinct, being replaced by an almost comical neutral face a second later.

Spanish class.

That's what it was now. A class.

As usual, her classmates started interacting with each other while she sat quietly at her desk, her songbook open and waiting to be filled by her juvenile calligraphy. Suddenly, her right hand moved to the next blank page and, after adjusting the songbook, started writing down furiously, her brow furrowed in concentration.

That cute little frown was the first thing Santana saw when she entered her class. The two tall jocks throwing paper balls into the bin suddenly stopped and headed to their desks at their own pace; not fast enough to make it seem like they were scared, and not slow enough to risk getting told off by the teacher. The chatter died, as it did every time the Latina's presence _owned _the room.

But, for what seemed like the longest of times – and in reality were three seconds – the only thing she was able to see, to comprehend, to _absorb, _was her.

Startled by the sudden quietness in the room, Rachel tilted her head until she could see the entirety of her classmates; their straight backs and closed mouths making her look at the front of the class. Were Sant- Ms. Lopez had suddenly appeared.

Their eyes locked for the briefest of times, but it was enough for Rachel to forget about the empty feeling she had been experiencing since her last Spanish class on Friday. It was enough for Rachel to forget _everything_.

Because she was sure that the glint of…how could she name it? Affection? Care? Had been present in the black orbs mere seconds ago.

"Buenos días clase."

Santana moved towards her desk, inadvertently getting closer to Rachel, so that she could leave her messenger bag and stack of papers resting there, as always. She lifted her eyes, trying with all her might to not stare at the tiny brunette as she surveyed the room with her cold gaze. But that simple objective proved itself to be too much, as she felt her eyes stopping on the big brown pools staring right back at her.

Feeling the urge to lick her lips, Santana closed her eyes for a second as she straightened herself. It wouldn't be good if she was caught staring at Rachel in a class full of students waiting attentively for any instruction.

Not good at all.

Sighing deeply, Santana ran a hand through her raven colored hair and turned her back to her students, starting to write something on the blackboard.

She heard the first signs of chatter stir between the students, so she turned her head to shoot a warning glance on their direction. A few of them caught the signal, but the larger amount, the group that had started throwing balls of paper everywhere, didn't seem to have noticed.

"Hey guys, silence." The hard edge of her voice cut through the teenagers like a blade, and once everyone came back to their silent state, the woman turned back to the blackboard.

Rachel, meanwhile, had been the receiver of numerous paper projectiles. The girl had had to actually run a hand through her hair a couple of times to remove the annoying papers. In her mind, she was begging for Santana to turn around, to face the moronic jocks and defend her, _protect _her. Because in her mind, since their eyes made contact at the beginning of the class, Rachel was _hers._ Hers to protect, hers to take care of.

She felt all the conclusions and thoughts since last Friday being thrown down the drain, forgotten and ignored.

She was drawn out of her thoughts, though, when she felt a particularly hard ball of _something_ – she wasn't even sure they were _just_ papers anymore – hit the back of her head.

Closing her eyes, Rachel cleared her throat lightly before steeling her nerves; and with the most determined expression she was capable of, she turned her head towards the couple of laughing jocks, who just happened to be high fiving each other.

"Excuse me, but does this belong to any of you?" Asked the girl as she extended the hand that contained the ball in their direction.

Looking at each other, the two burly boys started laughing profusely, attracting Santana's attention, who had been still writing until the – quite annoying – interruption.

Clicking her tongue, the Hispanic woman jutted her right hip and looked menacingly at the two boys, who didn't even see her in their fit of laughter.

Shaking her head, Rachel's brow started furrowing dangerously at the blatant lack of respect those two morons were demonstrating during _Santana_'s – she didn't know if she was quite there yet, but she liked to think so – class and towards her.

"Honestly, I am not able to see even the slightest trace of humor in my statement, or consequently, in your more than questionable acts."

Santana found the sight to be eerily exhilarating and endearing all at once, so with one fluid movement, she was situated by Rachel's desk, facing the two football players with her arms crossed across her chest. There, standing at all of her height and with _that_ sharp look directed towards the boys, Rachel could almost see them squirming under the Latina's scrutiny.

"Espero que no haya más interrupciones por parte de Soy-tonto-y-no-entiendo-español y compañía." At the look of utter confusion on the jock's faces, the Latina smirked lightly, just enough to let Rachel know that she was on her side. And _actively _so.

The petite girl smiled lightly, and felt the blood that should be running through her entire body rushing towards her cheeks when _Santana_ – she definitely was _there_ now – turned her body towards the blackboard, so that just Rachel could see her face, and widening her smile, _winked _at her.

Trying to not let her giant grin split her face, Rachel bowed her head shyly at the simple gesture.

And, _damn_, if Santana had known how a simple wink could turn the most beautiful of faces into a blushing show of adorableness, she would definitely have done it before.

_And fifty times a day, at least._

Because, no matter how many nightmares, conclusions and realizations she had gone through since the first time she saw Rachel, the woman knew she was worth every single one of them.

* * *

The class was coming to an end, and both Rachel and Santana felt more excited than they should have.

It was time for Glee club.

It was _their _time.

And, sure, they hadn't agreed on that. Hell, they had even been denying to themselves that they were going to let glee mean more to _them _than it should; but it was an inevitable, exhilarating feeling. Too much to fight it.

The bell finally rang, and Santana dismissed her students from her position at the big timber desk; a useless task since they had started collecting their things thirty seconds before the class had been officially over.

She lifted her head, unconsciously looking for a face, a person who, she knew, wouldn't be there.

And, in that moment, Santana had never been gladder that her instinct failed the 75% of the time.

"Rachel" spoke up the woman, a grin coloring her beautiful Latin features; another one shining in her eyes. "What are you doing here still?"

Smiling bashfully, the small girl readjusted the straps of her bag that hung from her right shoulder, her bottom lip dying to be bitten out of nervousness. Finally lifting her gaze until it made contact with Santana's, she felt her mouth opening to answer – to let out any sound, really –, when Santana, instead of letting her respond – or just sensing her hesitance – lifted her right hand, the smile not dimming one bit.

"Don't worry, really." Spoke up the beautiful woman, making the blush covering the girl's cheeks expand through her face. "Do you want me to…" Santana's smile slowly started disappearing, leaving just the corners of her mouth lightly upwards.

Her brain didn't send enough information anymore. Her cells weren't responding, her blood wasn't running through her veins, her lungs weren't filling and emptying with air. There was nothing. _Nothing_, but that girl. Those brown eyes. Those pink, innocent lips, so alluring and forbidden at the same time.

_Oh God._

She was _losing_ herself. She couldn't fall anymore. She simply couldn't.

And there was this tiny part of her; really, not important at all - it just covered the zone around her heart - that told her that she couldn't _fall_ anymore because there was no possible way that she could fall even _more_ than she already had.

Finally coming up to her senses, Santana blinked repeatedly, scolding herself mentally. She was that girl's teacher, _for fuck's sake_, she would have to learn some self control if she wanted to keep her job.

_And my hands to myself_.

Shaking her head, the woman forced out a smile once again, extracting Rachel from her thoughts as well. The girl just smiled nervously in response, and before she lost the little willpower she had left, the teacher turned her head to the right, eyeing her things – and don't seeing _anything._

Clearing her throat, Santana started ordering her stuff with trembling hands. Rachel was ten feet away, but she could _almost_ feel her pressing to her side. Looking out of the corner of her eye for a fleeting moment, the woman cleared her throat once again, this time much more lightly than the last one.

"Do you want to come with me to Glee?" The Latina finally asked the question she hadn't been able to utter two minutes ago, just in time for both her heart and her mind to start begging.

While her head screamed '_Don't! Are you fucking nuts?! No!_', her heart started to do funny jumpy things – that weren't funny at all.

Rachel, for her part, just stared dumbfounded for a few seconds before the words started to really sink in.

"What?" Squealed the tiny brunette as she tightened her grip on her bag's strap.

_No! No no no no no! I can't go with her! I will probably end up doing something stupid like start singing from happiness! Oh! And what if I forget the lyrics of the song I start singing?_

Suddenly, Santana sensed something that felt an awful lot like rejection. But, before she could take back her, now _obviously, _out of place invitation with her eyes downcast and slumped shoulders, Rachel spoke up.

"I'd love to." It had been timid and tiny, and _just like her, _but it had had more effect on the woman than a shouted answer would have.

Her back straightening unconsciously, Santana produced a blinding smile, making Rachel smile in return. The teacher looked back at the desk, not wanting to risk another awkward eye connection with her student.

Finally having collected all her things, Santana looked at the patient girl waiting for her with an, quite bad concealed, hopeful expression. Shaking her head at the dizziness she felt at the thought, Santana smiled at Rachel once more – _come on Lopez, you're starting to look like that Schuester creep – _and leaded the way out of the room, followed closely by one Rachel Berry.

She felt exposed, walking through the hallways where her daily torture took place with the person she – most definitely now – had a crush on. It felt as if she were destroying a precious memory by walking down those horrible corridors. And she didn't want any of her memories with Santana to be horrible. Or bad. Or simply, not _perfect. _

Santana, for her part, was trying to match her breathing with every three steps she took; making her an echoing tapping sound with her stilettos. Her hands were sweaty while she gripped the edge of some music sheet, being almost positive that she was wetting and wrinkling the paper.

She could hear the sound of Rachel's tiny Mary Janes, and could almost _sense_ the way the bottom of her skirt caressed the lowest part of her thighs, tickling the soft and sensitive skin.

"Miss Lopez?" She finally heard coming from behind her, interrupting her rather inappropriate thoughts. Turning her head towards the source of the sound, Santana tried to not let her nervous smile show, instead just keeping a professional one etched upon her flawless features.

"I didn't…" trailed off the tiny brunette, managing to look strikingly beautiful and bashful at the same time her bangs covered her eyes.

"Yes, Rachel?" urged the teacher, relishing on the feeling of the rather common name that meant so much to her coming softly out of her lips

_Mmm, Rachel. Rachel. Rachel._

"You didn't feel forced to take Mr. Schuester's position at Glee club, did you?" finally asked the small girl, her voice laced with concern. And maybe regret. That made Santana stop right there, in the middle of the school's deserted hallway. Turning her body swiftly to face Rachel, her face was set in a confused expression.

"What do you mean, Rachel?" Inquires the woman, the thrill of Rachel's name sliding out of her lips forgotten since the moment she heard the sorrow drip from Rachel's voice.

Rachel had stopped too, and now her hands were clasped in front of her, her gaze trained on the floor.

"I…" breathing deeply, Rachel raised her head so that she was facing her teacher, and the, oh, so beautiful caring expression present on her face in that moment left her speechless for a second.

Santana raised her eyebrow lightly, waiting for her answer but without wanting to push, concern almost getting the best of her. If Rachel was just _staring, _she was fine with it. She could _stare_ at Rachel for as long as necessary too.

Finally, the petite girl blinked a few times and blushed when she noticed the raised eyebrow. She looked down for a fleeting moment, extremely nervous and…vulnerable under Santana's stare.

"I know I can be too pushy, and too stubborn, and I know that I want things too much, but you don't have-"

"What? No!" Squealed Santana, finally catching up to what Rachel meant. Had she looked like she didn't want to do it? She had been waiting for Glee club since that restroom encounter last Friday, even though she had been trying to bury that urge. Bury it six feet under. She should have filled the space with concrete, instead of sand.

At the confused and, maybe, a little startled face of the brunette in front of her, Santana raised her right arm in front of them, asking for unnecessary permission to explain.

"You didn't push. At all, Rachel." _Rachel. Rachel._ "You explained the situation to me, and I took what I thought would be the correct and sensible decision. That's it. I promise you don't have anything to worry about." Reassured the older girl, almost having to physically restrain her right arm from reaching out and cupping Rachel's chin delicately.

Rachel looked at her through her extremely long lashes, her brown orbs shinning timidly behind them. Her anguished expression relaxing a little, because, _oh dear Yahweh, _the mere thought of having pushed Santana into a compromising position had made nausea stir inside her.

Finally, and under the intense gaze of Santana, Rachel broke into a giant grin, being reciprocated almost instantly by the woman.

They had gotten closer unconsciously on their exchange of words, and before Santana could fully realize what she was doing, her right hand – the one that wasn't _wrinkling _and _wetting_ the music sheets – was lightly pressing against the small of the younger girl's back, gently urging her forward.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, it feels so good. I'm not even touching her. Not properly, and I haven't sweated more in my entire life. This sucks._

After a few seconds.

_Who the fuck am I kidding. This is freaking heaven. Gracias, señor._

Silently, with heavy blushes and equally sweaty hands, both girls made their way to the choir room, half an hour before glee was even supposed to start.

* * *

**Translation:**

**"Espero que no haya más interrupciones por parte de Soy-tonto-y-no-entiendo-español y compañía": I hope that I'm-dumb-and-I-don't-understand-Spanish and company stop interrupting my class.**


	7. Glee Club

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**Well! Here it is! Sorry for the wait, but I was busy...and lazy. Very lazy.**

**I'm sorry for this chapter's lenght. It grew into a five thousand something words monster, but I didn't want to cut it. You'll see why :D**

**Enjoy and review! **

**No, seriously, if you DON'T review, I'll call Snix and I'll send her to kick your ass...no, just kidding. You thing that I would send her with you when I could be with her? lol**

* * *

Santana hadn't realized how long McKinley high hallways were until that moment. The hand on the lower part of Rachel's back was getting more and more sweaty with every passing second, and the other arm was squishing her papers against her chest without her noticing.

The walk was silence and somewhat tense, in spite of the relieving conversation they had had a couple minutes prior. The smaller girl looked out of the corner of her eye every few seconds; unable to shake the nervous feeling of excitement off her. She could feel her teacher's – _Santana's – _hand on her back, not pushing; not guiding. Just resting. She didn't know if the woman was doing so in purpose – she didn't even know if she _knew _she was doing it – but she decided to let it pass.

It was a feeling too good to question.

Finally, they turned a corner and the door to the choir room came into view. Both girls let their shoulders drop in a mix of relief and disappointment, the air they were breathing thickening with every step they took to reach the door. What before had seemed tense and almost awkward, now was something desirable; something they were already missing.

Just before they reached the door, Santana removed the hand positioned at the brunette's lower back, not before the tip of her fingers got caught by a curve in the fabric, making them run almost unnoticeably up her back. Closing her eyes for a second, the Spanish teacher prayed for Rachel to not be able to hear the way her heartbeat had sped up; though she found it to be an almost impossible achievement.

_What a stupid thing, Lopez._

Stopping by the door, Rachel saw how the woman extracted a single key from her back pocket – _Oh Yahweh, what a _back _pocket – _and fumbled a little with it until she managed to open the door, a trait that Rachel found adorable. Oh, thank Barbra she hadn't been caught staring at her _back pocket._ After further inspection, she discovered that there were, in fact, _two _pockets.

Once the door was open, Santana turned her head to Rachel, and smiling nervously, signaled her on.

"You first, miss." Was the playful semi-greeting given by the tanned beauty, who seemed to have steeled her nerves for long enough to actually be able to construct anything else than excuses and monosyllables with her turned-to-mush brain.

Smiling politely – while trying to cover up her blush by bowing her head –, Rachel murmured a shy thank you and entered the choir room. Once she got in, the atmosphere seemed to have changed completely: she was finally in her territory; this was _hers._

Admiring the beautiful carefree smile on Rachel's face, Santana closed the door and neared the piano; depositing her things by it; the stack of – now wrinkled and wet - paper resting neatly at top of it.

The woman suddenly felt the urge to run her fingers over the surface of the big black piano; her fingers itching to feel the polished surface; the soft and smooth keys. She had never excelled at playing piano – nor any other instrument, really –, but she felt something calling her forward; forcing her to near and _touch _and _feel _it.

"We have a really talented pianist." Came the sweet voice of her favorite student, who had left her bag by the chair she'd be occupying later on Glee and had neared her. Turning her head, Santana smiled at her for a moment before her eyes came back to their previous position, adoring the magical instrument.

"This seems like a wonderful piano." The woman said almost absent mindedly, her fingers finally having reached out and caressed the outer contours of the cover.

"It is." Breathed out the brunette in a dreamy voice.

Her lips turning up on instinct, Santana shook her head lightly, letting her eyes keep roaming. Rachel, looking up at her teacher for a moment, reached out her hand to touch the smooth surface too, her fingers sliding leisurely across the black polished wood.

Now, both of them were inspecting the big piano, trying not to cross paths with each other; the two of them mesmerized by something they didn't recognize. A minute had passed before the raven haired woman's eyes landed on a naturally tanned hand with petite, slender fingers.

Her own fingers started dancing on its direction, trying to create a distractive pattern against the wood surface to no avail; trying to coax her own fingers into another direction. But, as her fingers neared more and more Rachel's, she felt them stop their almost geometric movements, just slowing down until they were barely moving by the student's, her own having stopped a while ago – as well as her _breath._

Santana was hesitant, not wanting to elevate her level of dysfunctional attraction or contact with Rachel; not knowing if she would be able to convince herself that not even a small touch was allowed after this.

But, when, _finally, _the petite girl moved her hand in her direction and their skin _touched_, Santana didn't even care that this was oh, so _deliciously _wrong in so many senses, or that her heart had stopped beating for an insane amount of time.

Neither one of them dared lifting their gazes, dreading what they would see. Rachel's pinky laid under Santana's, both girls basking on the feeling of being so achingly and innocently close to the object of their affections. Rachel's lips turned up into a shaky smile, a sigh of relief almost escaping her lips when her teacher started moving her little finger over hers lightly.

Santana just stared; almost mesmerized by the way their skins seemed to meld together. Her finger had started moving on its own, crossing the line she had so carefully drawn; feeling her student's. Her mouth almost dropped open in a prayer of _thanks' _and _save me, Lord._

"You're the only person in school that's nice to me."

Suddenly, the teacher's head snapped to the left, having been pulled by the same invisible force that had made her stare unabashedly at the piano. But this time, instead of an old and majestic wood instrument, she was met with the most _beautiful_ face her eyes had ever laid upon.

Eyelashes fluttering madly, Rachel finally looked up at her teacher as if acknowledging her own words and stretched her hand a little bit, trying to inadvertently gain some more contact with the tall woman, who in response placed two more fingers over Rachel's, and after a second or two, squeezed the hand underneath hers. They were much closer now, both of them standing sideways by the other with their forearms touching and their fingers almost intertwining; eyes connecting with _souls_; souls meeting through eyes.

"I was so happy when you accepted."

Something swam in Rachel's eyes; something that Santana was desperate to decipher. Her hand tightened around Rachel's, all of her senses centered on the other girl. Acting on an impulse, Santana curled her fingers under Rachel's, until she was cupping the brunette's hand with her own, and pulled them backwards, sliding them slowly across the smooth surface until they fell off the edge of the piano.

Staring at their joined hands, Santana blinked a couple times in awe before her eyes shifted upwards nervously. Rachel was looking at her too, through her lashes and with her mouth slightly open, making her look younger than she really was.

Her heart tugging painfully at the thought, Santana frowned a little; not daring to move from her position in front of the brunette. She could feel her hand starting to sweat; her fingers gripping tighter to the student's hand to prevent them from separating, and smiled lightly when Rachel's lips curled upwards at the change of pressure.

"I couldn't disappoint you, Rachel."

This wasn't wrong anymore. Not for those instants in which she could lose herself in the beautiful girl's eyes, in which she was allowed to enjoy the feelings the brunette gave her and she let herself crave for more.

After a few seconds, both of them were able to feel the air of the room getting thicker; heavier if possible. Their shoulders sagged lightly as their eyes dropped almost in sync. Their breaths were labored as the two women inspected two seemingly perfect pairs of lips for just a second.

Santana was the first to snap them back up to the two pools of brown, which seemed mesmerized; absent almost. Her breath had caught in her throat, the only thought in her mind being _Rachel. _All rights and wrongs had evaporated from her mind faster than a water drop in a hot pan.

Their fingers had intertwined between them and their feet were touching, making them feel inside a world of their own were this _closeness _was allowed and _more _was looked for. They couldn't advance any closer, their fronts were almost touching and both girls could already feel the other's irregular breath on their own skin.

"I'm so glad you didn't."

Santana feared the moment in which she'd wake up; she'd discover that this was all a _dream_ and that she had never gotten the chance to practically _breathe _the brunette in. She'd wake up and try to cry herself to sleep because of the impossibility of her desires.

And she would probably also cry because of the level of dysfunction she would be faced every day for the rest of the school year; every second her eyes were laid upon Rachel and her hands weren't allowed to touch the girl; her eyes weren't allowed to observe the brunette; _she_ wasn't allowed to _love_ Rachel.

But that wasn't a dream. It was all real; everything she thought wouldn't be possible was happening in that moment. Her mouth was slightly agape and her eyes were hooded with desire, though she knew she wouldn't act on it. She didn't even want to do so.

She could feel Rachel's fingers sliding underneath her own; her breath hitting her chin; her encompassed little fluttering of eyelids. And she discovered that those little things were everything she wanted to feel for the rest of her life. Right or not.

Seconds tickled by, maybe minutes, but neither of them dared moving. Only their now almost familiar fingers continued their stroking patterns over each other's. The soft skin was inviting, and with every touch, Santana found herself wanting to touch more, to feel more; even to _breathe _more.

So, finally, and against every rational part of her brain, she did so.

The raven haired woman lifted the hand that had been hanging limp by her side, and hesitating for a second, extended her fingers until they came in contact with the brunette's silky locks. She caressed the soft hair for a moment, before that same hand rose again, but with a different aim.

She could feel Rachel's baited breath against her chin stop for a moment, as her hand got in contact with the soft and warm skin of her cheek. Her index finger skimmed across the sharp cheekbone, pulling the hair out of her face at the same time. Santana was now staring directly at Rachel's face; her eyes searching for any trace of hesitation or fear.

The only thing she was met with was the closed eyes and parted mouth of her student.

No.

With the closed eyes and parted mouth of the _most beautiful woman she had ever seen._

Her hand had tightened around Rachel, and she pulled once to let the girl know that it was okay to see; to feel. To appreciate every moment and every detail, like she was doing.

A hint of a smile appeared on Rachel's face as she lifted her face; her eyes instantly having sought the comfort of the darker ones. Santana's lips didn't curl up to form a smile even though that was all they wanted to do in answer.

No.

Instead, she pulled at the hand once again, this time directing it to her side so that Rachel would come in contact with her; their fronts almost touching and the irregular breath of the girl hitting hotly against her lower chin even when her face was held upwards by the woman.

A nervous smile crossed the tanner beauty's face; her mind having wondered for a moment the 'what if's of their current position. She shouldn't have smiled or been as calm as she was. Just that mere thought two hours ago would have sent her spiraling right into the nearest bathroom and emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Not now, though. She hadn't come _this_ far, risked this much just to back off. Rachel was worth too much for _that_.

In spite of that, she couldn't help but close her eyes when she received a little tug to her hand, looking for a little bit of attention. Rachel _reciprocated_; and it was enough for the Latina to be able to throw her whole future out the window, rip Rachel's clothes off and make love to her for the rest of eternity.

But she wasn't that stupid, so she simply smiled and let her eyes dig into Rachel's at the same time her face neared the brunette's. Slowly, with almost seduction – but not quite – Santana leaned down, until her lips pressed firmly to the girl's forehead; whose own eyes had closed the moment Santana had started leaning in.

The woman opened her mouth so that only her top lip was in light contact with the other girl's warm skin, and breathed deeply. To the student, the sound made by the air entering harshly that mouth was exciting, _promising_.

If asked later, she would never admit it, but the feeling had resulted almost _arousing._

Rachel's heartbeat sped up with every breath the woman took against her forehead. Her fingers had started caressing her scalp as well as her hand, and the feeling was leaving her breathless. She was dying to get on her tiptoes and be able to touch the tan skin of Santana's face with her lips. In that moment, she would have given anything.

She wasn't even sure that she would choose Broadway over the feeling overtaking her in that precious instant.

Her eyes were closed, and biting her lip, she decided to finally _do something. _So, shaking away the fear of rejection and humiliation that was resting just under the surface, the girl moved her unused hand to the one on her scalp and, as gently as she could, disentangled it from her soft hair.

Feeling the even breaths against her forehead stop, the brunette swiftly maneuvered the hand so that it was resting partly against her cheek, and opening her eyes for a moment, she kissed the palm. A soft whimper, almost _nothing_ escaped the Latina's mouth, because, _fuck, _she had thought that after the kiss on the cheek she'd be immune to those pouty lips.

But, with the way her eyes had snapped open and her hand had closed tightly around Rachel's, she realized that she had been wrong all along.

"God, Rachel." Was murmured against the top of her head as the hand that had just being kissed was pressed to the back of the girl's neck, her other hand suddenly applying pressure between her collarbones.

"How do you want me to-" started choking out the Hispanic woman with her eyes tightly closed once again, only to be interrupted by a muffled sound against her collarbone.

"I don't know."

The student's hands were gripping the upper part of Santana's sleeves, forcing the impulse to cry in desperation down her body. The fact that she understood what Santana had wanted to say made the bile rise high on her throat; the reality of their situation finally sinking in.

_How do you want me to do this?_

_How do you want me to be with you?_

Santana pulled her head back just enough to be able to see the petite girl's face, not being able to stand so close to her without actually seeing her; without knowing if she had done something wrong.

But, even though her expression was conflicted, her eyes showed something akin of _hope. _Santana would bet her entire classic books' collection that that was the look present on her face as well.

Suddenly, the sound of shoe soles rubbing against the linoleum floor and chatter hit them like a brick wall. Rachel, startled, made to back away, but was stopped by the strong grip her teacher held on her; her arms still wrapped around her shoulders.

Rachel sensed a wave of tears rushing to her eyes. They had been so close, so _intimate. _She could almost taste it, the bittersweet taste of the victory she was set on winning. And she couldn't let Santana see her cry over such a stupid thing. She had to show her that she was a mature girl, a woman whom Santana could trust with.

And her tears weren't helping in the slightest bit as they started falling down her cheeks.

Santana's face instantly morphed into one of pure concern; her mind forgetting for a moment the approaching group of students who were most presumably already on the nearest hallway. Her brow furrowed in pain at such sight being produced by _her_, and tears were almost brought to her own eyes when she felt Rachel pulling away from her, her hands brushing against her arms until she was out of reach and sitting on her chair.

Santana just stared with a pained look and a broken heart. Who was she to lead Rachel on when she knew, when they both knew that nothing could come out of it? God, she felt like a fucking failure. Rachel had been the main reason she had waken up every morning with a freaking smile on her face and a fucking full heart. And now-

"No! You're kidding!" Came the booming voice of a tall blonde guy who had opened the door, followed by an Asian well built boy who was laughing profusely. They looked around the room for a moment, completely ignoring the girl sitting on the first row of seats, but stopping on the tall Latina woman that looked like someone had kicked her puppy.

People kept entering the room as the seconds passed: two tall, pretty blonde girls entered the room hand in hand, both of them clad in a Cheerio's uniform. One of them was bouncing happily while the other tried – quite unsuccessfully – to suppress a loving smile.

_Mmm, _thought Santana,_ I know these girls. Quinn Pierce and Brittany Pi- Wait. No. It was Brittany Pierce and Quinn… Fabray? Yes! Fabray, I knew it._

As the minutes went by, the room started filling with more and more people who Santana recognized from her Spanish classes.

The old-fashioned kid, Blaine – _Kurt would like this one_ –; the Gothic looking Asian girl, Tina Cohen Chang; the boy/girl who had transferred this year and whose name(s?) the teacher didn't remember; a crazy and hyperactive girl whose dad paid almost everything the school spent and who was called…_Sweet Pie. Yeah right Santana. You gotta stop thinking about certain things and start thinking about _certain_ things._

After realizing that there was no one missing, the woman shook off her worry for a moment and clasped her hands at her back; much like she did on her usual classes. She smiled at them; a barely forced smile was all she managed to accomplish without letting her eyes wander to the tiny brunette sitting alone on the first row.

Her smile tightened a little when she noticed that _no one_ in that room had even acknowledged the fact that the girl had, obviously, been crying. The thought of not being able to console Rachel made her heart break; but the notion of _no one_ doing so was constricting her throat.

"Hi everyone." Started the woman, the strain of nervousness and something _else_ present in her voice. She didn't wait for an answer, before she continued.

"As most of you know, I'm Santana Lopez, the Spanish teacher, and new Glee coach as well." A cacophony of conversations and questions started bouncing on the walls of the room.

"Mr. Schue's already gone?"

"Thanks God we got a substitute!"

"Dude, she's so hot."

"Do you think she knows about music?"

Clapping her hands twice in front of her, the raven haired woman smiled a little less forced when everyone got quiet and looked at her. Even _she _was looking at her. Forcing herself to not look at her tear tracks marked face, the teacher just started talking.

"Well! I don't really know what you guys used to do here-"

"Sing" murmured one of the boys, earning various laughs and an annoyed glare from the blonde stoic cheerleader.

Cocking her head to the right, her eyebrow raised, Santana unclenched her jaw amusedly before snorting lightly.

"No! You swear? I thought you cooked!" Exclaimed the now satisfied woman with a fake shock face, eyeing the boy who had made the remark and who happened to be the first one to enter the class that evening.

Well, the first one after her and Rachel-

"Miss Lopez?" Santana snapped her head to the right at hearing her name being called by the most appealing set of lips of that room.

_The most appealing set of lips in the whole unknown and expanding Universe._

A little part of her brain registered a wave of grunts and complaints among the rest of teenagers in the room, though the only thing she was able to assimilate in that moment was Rachel.

Her student's face was set in a determined expression, only broken by the tear tracks adorning her cheeks almost imperceptibly. Her eyes were downcast, and the Latina feared what she'd see once Rachel lifted her gaze.

"Yes, Miss Berry?" Answered Santana, trying to keep the strain provoked by Rachel's participation and willingness to talk to her after their _incident _in line.

"As this is your first experience as our Glee Coach, I thought that we could guide your first steps; just like Mr. Schuester taught us to." Spoke securely the girl; completely ignoring the annoyed and mocking looks the rest of students were giving her.

"Through _music._"

Santana, for her part, just stood there for a moment without doing anything, just absorbing the way Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder; obviously trying to look nonchalant to the teacher who had already seen _so_ much of her.

She was one hell of an actress, but she couldn't fool Santana. The hurt was still visible in her brown orbs, which were moving anxiously trying to avoid eye contact while the rest of her body acted poised and confident.

Breaking out of her thoughts, Santana turned her body to the rest of the students, which looked like they were starting to get interested in the class, and smiled uneasily.

"That seems like a wonderful idea."

A few of them nodded in agreement, so the Latina moved to one side of the classroom until she reached _the _piano, and with a shuddering breath – having to contain herself from randomly caressing the black polished surface -, she turned around to face the students.

"Okay guys. Whenever you're ready." Stated the woman, watching intently as everyone got up from their chairs and started forming what looked like a quite disorganized triangle with Rachel and the blonde boy – _Sam, I think it is – _at the front. Smiling nervously, looking nothing had happened before that performance, Rachel ran to a big stereo planted by one of the bookshelves of the room a maneuvered for a few seconds before going back to her previous position.

Two seconds later, _Don't Stop Believin' _from Journey started blasting at the same time the teenagers started chorusing. Rachel's face seemed to be illuminated by a giant spotlight, while Sam's just looked distracted.

The girl started moving her hips in a little swaying motion that wasn't seductive in the least – except it _was._

But none of that mattered once the tiny brunette opened her mouth, and her glorious voice started filling the choir room. Every thought, every reasoning and planning left her mind once the music started filling her head deliciously.

Her heart stopped at the realization of the little ball of _perfection _that Rachel truly was. Something snapped inside her; making her stomach turn and her eyes widen, unmoving from the tan face of the girl.

She loved the way Rachel walked, the way she spoke; the way she was just _herself. _She loved every word that left the brunette's mouth, every little step she did; every breath she took. She _loved _her lips; her voice– _Oh my, _what_ voice – _her legs; her timid feminine curves_. _She loved _everything _about Rachel.

_Everything._

And it didn't feel half as bad as she thought it would.

The rest of teenagers were dancing and singing oblivious to their teacher's musings; some whole heartedly like that Blaine boy, who kept bobbing his head up and down with every lyric that escaped his mouth; others not so enthusiastically, like Mike, who just twirled around wriggling his arms spectacularly.

And Santana should have felt bad for not paying the most minimum attention to those kids which were, at least, making an effort to impress her.

But she wasn't sorry in the least when Rachel made two spins in a row and her skirt flew up theatrically around her, her baby blue panties peeking shyly from underneath.

_Oh sweet, sweet Lord. ¿Por qué me haces esto, Señor?_

She walked backwards as elegantly as she was able to with Rachel's toned thighs and blue undergarments teasing her pupils constantly, until she reached the piano; and with great subtlety, she gripped the edge, letting her weight fall mostly in her arms.

A few seconds passed, and the song was finally over. She was fearing the moment in which she would be asked to spot their flaws; to compliment their skills and she would have to admit that she had only being paying attention to _one _particular part of the performance.

But, fortunately for her, that moment never came.

She just smiled at them in her speechless state, and let them cheer over the – _not _completely _true_ – fact that they had impressed their new coach immensely.

Only Rachel seemed to have noticed the state Santana was in, since her teacher had been her main focus during almost her whole performance, _too._

When Santana finally recovered from her mental collapse and was able to _properly _stand on her feet, she clapped a few times before an impressed nod started bobbing her head up and down, her smile turning into a _real _one for the first time that day.

"You were amazing! I can't- You left me speechless, truly guys." Well, that wasn't _all _a lie. She was _left _speechless, after all.

The teens started clapping and cheering, even more proud of themselves than they were a minute ago. All of them started moving towards their seats, cocky and smug looks on their faces.

_Wow, that teacher had their ego over the freaking clouds._

She smiled back, letting them know that it was okay to be proud of their performance. Once they reciprocated, her eyes searched her favorite girl, and found her looking at the floor, the previous passion and determination having escaped her body completely.

Knowing that it was because of _her, _Santana breathed deeply as she kept the flow of emotions dying to get out at bay; her smile not wavering.

"Miss Lopez, I think that with this being our first day and all that, we should cut this class short" said the high pitched voice of Sugar. The woman just stood there, about to try and convince Sugar to actually take the whole class; but the teens were faster, as they had all started nodding and voicing their agreement.

The woman sighed. That class wasn't going as she had expected it to. The students weren't as devoted as she thought them to be – there were a couple exceptions, of course –, and they hadn't even had a proper class yet.

And to top it all, Rachel's face in that moment was one of the most _painful_ things she had had to endure her whole life. If she could, she would have wrapped Rachel up in her arms; she would hold her tightly and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Her stomach turned when her mind shouted '_It's not going to be okay!_'

Finally and with a barely hidden defeated expression, Santana nodded her head; allowing the students to leave. Instantly, everyone jumped from their seats, and taking their belongings, they left.

Only Santana and Rachel stood there; they weren't looking at each other, just waiting for the other to do _something. _Anything that would make them either leave while crying uncontrollably or stay.

Crying, probably.

When a few minutes passed and neither of them made a move, Rachel carefully got up from her chair and grabbed her backpack gingerly, as if she didn't want to break the silence. She started walking slowly, almost timidly towards the door; knowing that with each step she took she would make things _easier_ for both of them. That's what Santana deserved.

But, just when she was reaching the open door, Santana sprang into action and run towards her, turning her body lightly to the right before engulfing her in a hug. The other girl instantly reciprocated, letting the backpack fall to the floor with a thud and burying her face into the apex of her teacher's neck and shoulder.

Santana's eyes were clouded with tears as she held the sobbing girl tightly against her; unwavering in spite of the pain running through her veins and poisoning her whole being. She didn't even care that they were in front of an open door, at the school where Santana _worked _and Rachel _attended _her classes, or that the Glee kids had left no more than ten minutes ago.

She simply didn't.

She moved her mouth to the brunette hair in front of her, kissing it softly before an '_I'm so sorry, Rachel_' left her lips. The girl just continued crying silently; treasuring that moment with her…her teacher, her _love, _as painful as it was.

_I'm so sorry for not being able to give this to you._

When finally the crying subsided – after another ten _too short _minutes –, Rachel sniffled soundly before pulling her head back; being totally caught off guard when the Latina planted a firm kiss to her forehead, much like she had done by the piano a few light-years ago.

Looking up at her through her lashes, she saw the sorrow and the pain in those black eyes, and had to look away, unable to stand it without breaking once again.

They finally parted, and Santana hadn't even had time to say goodbye before the girl had left. She just stood by the door; looking with tears in her eyes as Rachel ran down the hallway.


End file.
